Pretty
by BullettProoff
Summary: No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.- A oneshot mostly based on the Tommy from TCM:TB- Rated M for language, and sexual content. -


I can feel dried blood and dirt smeared on my face, part of me wants to lick my lips but I'm too wary of the unfamiliar stiffness that covers them. I'm too tired to jerk my arms around anymore, not to mention they're rubbed raw from the metal binds that…_Freak _put me in. My entire body is begging for medical attention, I'm all too aware of the cuts and bruises layering my body – not to mention the fact my ankle is probably sprained. I crack my eyes open for only a second, glancing down and noticing how black and blue the flesh is on my foot, definitely sprained. I spare myself another glance and look around the room, feeling the bile rise in the back of my throat – the animals. I swallow, hard. My husband is laid out on the table, his limbs bound…His torso is smashed in and I have to look away before I get a view of the broken ribs jutting out. I guess I never realized driving to Mexico, to go on your honeymoon, could result in being captured by a family of cannibals.

My gaze turns to the stairway, and I watch as the freak – I think the false Sheriff called him Tommy – takes his sweet time walking down, his shadow casting images through the cracks in the boards that line it. His steps thud against the wood then turn into sloshing noises when he starts walking towards the table, a butcher knife held tightly in his hand. He doesn't spare me a second glance, immediately going to work at cutting away the flesh and muscle on my deceased husband's body. The bile comes back to me, and I open my mouth – allowing the acid and former contents of my stomach to spill out into the already filthy water, desperately wishing I could drink something to rid my mouth of the foul flavor. On that not, the fre- 'Tommy' turns to look at me, the only visible part of his face – his mouth – turns down at the corners, then into a scowl before he promptly slams the blade of his knife into the wooden table.

"Please don't hurt me." I whisper, feeling tears sting at the corner of my eyes – for the briefest moment, he falters…Then reaches for a small kitchen knife, using one of his hands to grip my lower jaw – I whimper and he tightens his hold on me.

Hoyt will have my hyde if I don't save this lady for a few more hours…He likes to play with his food, that's what Uncle Monty's told me when I'm helpin' 'im go through and separate the good meat from the bad meat. Uncle Monty can't do much no more, since Hoyt had me cut off his hurt leg, then the uninjured one so he could balance. Mamma's good to him though, makin' sure he stays healthy…I don't think Uncle Monty's ever gonna forgive me for it, even though he still treats me the same. This lady is pretty, she reminds of how I imagine Mamma lookin' when she was young. She's got pretty hair, the color of sand, and her face is real pretty; a sort of big nose – but I like it, I think it makes her look more 'defined' – and big round lips…Plus she's got real interestin' lookin' brown spots speckled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Then her eyes – they're the same color of grass durin' the season – and the only season – when we get lots of rain. She's making soft sounds, and I feel sorry for 'er. But it doesn't stop me from goin' 'nd pickin' up the small knife. Then I 'member that I oughta save 'er for Hoyt to play with, but part of me doesn't want 'im to play with her. I like 'er. I've seen Hoyt play with all the pretty ladies, and I'm not sure how he does it…But I think I could 'igure it out.

I set the knife down, before making my way towards the steps, ignoring the loud sound they make as I hastily climb up 'em and shut the metal door abruptly. I fumble around with the lock, my meaty fingers havin' trouble pulling it to the side. As soon as it's done I feel something stirrin' in my stomach…It ain't a bad feelin', and I kinda like it – I wonder if it's what Mamma meant when she told me stories about all the handsome boys that 'fancied' her when she was a young, pretty thing, 'nd how she got butterflies in her stomach – I wonder how ya get butterflies in your stomach…I shake my head quickly, remembering the pretty lady waitin' down below, and I anxiously stomp back down. I ain't really sure what to do, but I try doin' what Hoyt does when he plays with the pretty ladies. I reach out and fiddle with the white blouse she's wearin' – boy, it feels soft. There's buttons on it and 'course I try undoin' 'em, but I decide to use the knife instead…It cuts the shirt right open and she's wearin' some odd-shaped thing to cover up her…What does Hoyt call 'em? Oh, right, tits. Soon as I start muckin' with the thing coverin' her tits she starts cryin'.

I don't know what fuck he's doing, and I'm tempted to scream. Maybe that's not a good idea, I decide, especially considering the Sheriff will be down here as soon as he can if I start making any noise. I feel vomit start inching up my throat, for the second time, as the Freak's fingers touch my exposed skin – there's blood all over them. _Mark's blood. _The last thought crossing my mind makes me tilt my head back and I whimper, sniffling as I try to jerk my hands free…I don't want this monster to touch me, not like the way he is right now. He killed my fucking husband. I give up and scream, but that doesn't stop him – I jerk and move my body as he grabs at my bra straps, obviously he's too stupid to know how to get the damn thing off. Stupid fucking cannibalistic hicks. I scream more as he shoves a hand over my mouth, the other one reaching for the knife…He picks it up and cuts my bra off, right down the middle…While reaching for a bloodied cloth. I try and kick him as he shoves the fabric in my mouth, I start trying harder to scream, only managing to cry. I can taste blood, blood that probably belongs to Mark.

I can't get away from this insane reality. He's moving his hand down and I feel his fingers start trying to undo my bell bottoms, but he resigns once more – for the third time he uses the knife to cut away yet another piece of my clothing. I feel the hot tears roll down the side of my face, and I want to be home. I want to be with my mother and father, in California. I'm completely exposed now, the only clothes on me are the blouse and bra that are hanging loosely – letting my breasts sit there freely, while the Freak cuts away the last thing covering the slight curve of my femininity.

She's cryin', screamin' and jerkin' around, but I ain't lettin' that stop me. This one's a real beaute, and I just gotta try doin' what Hoyt always does. I feel something new, and it makes me try even harder to undo all the complicated clothes this lady is wearin'. It hurts, a little, I think 'cause the site of her tits is makin' my…Well, Hoyt calls it a dick, so I guess my dick stand straight up and all hard. I stop soon as I get the last piece of her clothes off; her panties. I needa figure out how to do this, but I've watched Hoyt do 'et so many times it should be easy. I pull off the white apron Mamma gave me, so I don't get my nice clothes dirty – or at least that's what she says – followed by the mud covered jeans I'd been wearin'.

It makes the lady cry harder and jerk around more when she sees me undoin' the thing keepin' her on the ceiling. I'm not unbinding her, just going to get 'rid of the body on my butcherin' table and lean her up against it. I stop quickly, moving over – pants around my ankles – and pulling over a wooden box, one of the empty ones I keep layin' 'round case I need 'em, and undo the shackles keeping the corpse in place. I shove the broken body into the box then go back to undoin' the lady's bonds, quickly holding her hands together before fixing the other bonds so they're tighter…She starts kickin' at me, my dick, with her legs but I hit her back. Hard, and she stops, whimpering softly as I walk to the other side, then stretch her arms across and tie them down to the metal, then walk back over and tie her legs together with some of the twine I use to hold stacks of meat together.

She tries to scream again when I push her rear up a bit – Hoyt says the asshole ain't no place for your dick to be, so I go and look for what he calls her 'pussy'. I look at smallish hole and use my pointer finger to poke into it with…Its squishy, like a sponge, inside and wet. She gasps, then cries harder, when I pull my finger out and then I start to put a hand on my dick and try 'nd guide it into the hole…It's real difficult to get it in there, 'cause she flails a bit but I hit 'er again 'nd she stops…When I finally get the whole thing in 'er it feels great. Ain't like nothin' I ever felt before. I like it. Lots. I pull my hips back and then slam forward, that feels great, too…Then I start doin' the motions I seen Hoyt do lots o' times and that feels even better – pretty soon I'm slammin' in and out of 'er pussy and I can feel myself get even harder…I like it. I think I love it. The lady is cryin' but I can feel how damp she is down there and Hoyt says it's real good for the lady when they's wet. I keep goin' faster 'n' faster, and the lady starts makin' funny noises.

He's disgusting, I repeat to myself over and over. Bowing my head and letting my blonde hair hang in my face as the Freak _violates _me. He's slamming in and out of me, and I'm shocked at how well endowed the filthy bastard is…I thought rapists had small penises…He's thick and long and it hurts, but my primal side likes it. I scream at myself, and suddenly I'm happy that Mark isn't seeing this – isn't seeing how I can't keep my fucking mouth shut from making the moaning and whimpering noises I make when somebody touches my vagina. I don't like. I hate it. I want it to stop, but of course my body loves it, and I know I'm soaking wet – I want to die and I find myself praying for the blissful moment the chainsaw wielding freak takes up his weapon and slices through my torso. After ten minutes go by I can feel my body start betraying me with the oncoming climax, building up in my abdomen and I scream – a different kind of scream – as my body gives in to him and tightens all around his disgusting penis.

Then he fucking comes…_Inside _of me. I can feel his cum in my womb, and I don't want the bastard to get me pregnant with his fucking disgusting satan's spawn. I finally manage to push the gag out of my mouth and start screaming bloody murder.

"You fucking bastard; you killed my fucking husband. GET THE FUCK OFF ME. I'm going to rip your fuc-" My trail of insults stops as he yanks his limp penis out of me and slams my face down on the table.

I sure hope Hoyt didn't 'ear the lady start screamin', he'll be down 'ere soon if he did. I quickly pull up my pants and put the white apron back on. After I'm done getting' myself dressed I lay the unconscious lady out on my butcherin' table, binding her down with curved bits of metal and hammerin' nails into 'em. She's real purdy, and I make it a point to use the bloodied rag to clean her pussy – I don't need Hoyt knowin' I went ahead and tried out playin' with 'er. I don't want to kill this lady, she's awful pretty. Maybe Hoyt will let me keep her…Probably not, he says no matter 'ow pretty the ladies are they's meant to be eaten. I don't want to eat this one, tho'. I look at her tits, they're pretty big, and not a lot of the ladies that Hoyt gets to play with have tits like these.

"What the fuck you doin' boy?" I freeze, looking up as I hear Hoyt start pounding his fist, and probably his feet, against the locked door. I grunt in response as I climb the stairs, unlatch the door and let 'im in. Hoyt gives me a real suspicious look, right before he shoves passed me and makes his way down the stairs…Dressed up in that Sheriff costume again. I follow him and I ain't happy when I see 'im lookin' at the pretty Lady and reachin' out for 'er tits. I grunt and take a big step forward; Hoyt turns and looks at me like I'm crazy.

"You wanna go wait upstairs, Tommy?" Hoyt asks, even though he's askin' it I know it's a command. I sort of narrow my eyes, very subtly shaking my head, Hoyt scowls at me before fiddling with his belt. I know what he's gonna do and I don't like it one bit. But I can't do nothin' 'bout it so I make my way back to the stairs…Stomping up them and makin' my way to the kitchen, hoping Mamma's cookin' some of the meat I got off of the man the lady was travelin' with.

I wake up after what seems like hours and my entire body aches, I hardly remember where I've been and what's happened; but it only stays that way for a moment, then I'm brought back to reality where I am in the throes of some cannibals' house in Texas. My southern area feels abused, and I whimper, because it feels raw and painful. I slowly open my eyes, afraid of what I'm going to see. It's all the same, except the Freak has me laid out on the table he butchered Mark on – my wrists and ankles are all bound to the block of cement and I sniffle. After a few more minutes I hear Freak's footsteps roughly hitting the stairs and I turn my head away, swallowing more vomit and squinting my eyes shut. I feel cold metal against my skin and a whimper escapes me, against my will. I attempt to find comfort in the fact I'm being surrendered to the cold hands of death – it's better than this bitter, horrifying reality I've been tossed into by some comic act of God. I wait, and I wait…but he doesn't cut me.

Slowly, I open my eyes and I'm horrified; he's leaning down to kiss me. I jerk my head around and cry, attempting to jerk my body away but receiving more raw burns from the bindings. Freak grabs my neck and holds me in place, and I feel a twinge of pity for him when he finally does kiss me – the hick doesn't know how to kiss – but soon enough revulsion overcomes my body and I whimper, jerking around more. I **want **to die; I know I don't deserve this. I open my mouth and scream myself hoarse, but it doesn't do me any good; the rest of the family isn't going to save me. I'm dinner. Tears run down my face and I pray, I pray to the good Lord. Pray that he'll save me from this horrible nightmare and that I'll wake up in bed with Mark, holding me tight and keeping me safe from all the bad things in the world…

"Wake up, girly." I choke and open my eyes, shrinking as the Sheriff takes a step closer, reaching out to grab my face. I spit at his feet and jerk my head away; whimpering as he grips my jaw with a hard grip I'd hoped would never be used on me. He leans in, now another freak is going to kiss me; and he knows how kiss. He shoves his tongue in my mouth and I whimper and pull my own far away from his, even attempting to chomp down on it…I jerk my hands and…I've been moved from the spot downstairs – quickly, I look around, blinking as I notice I'm now underneath a table. I blink again and realize when I wiggle my feet; I'm not tied up very tight. I jerk my legs and feet around, but the Sheriff slaps me, hard, again.

"Get your hands off me you disgusting piece of shit." I hiss, feeling how raw my throat is from screaming and crying. That doesn't matter, not now, now I'm almost free – I'm starting to loosen up the rope on my feet and now I've started wiggling my hands. I guarantee it was the Sheriff who tied them, the big idiot. He slaps me again, but I'm not letting it stop me from jerking my body around.

"You little bitch." He growls and I look up, only for a moment, before one of my feet is free – and as he starts coming towards me I lift it and nail him in the stomach. I'm desperate now, and adrenaline is rushing through my system…My fingers graze the rope, and my wrists ache, but I'm almost free. Almost. The Sheriff is on the ground, clutching his stomach and swearing, I continue to ignore this and…Yes, thank god, yes! I'm free. I stand up and lift my barefoot, then nail him as hard as I can in the stomach. It makes my toes hurt, but I launch myself out of the kitchen and dash for the dirt road – better yet, there's a forest. There's swearing and cussing from behind me, and I glance haphazardly to the side as a bullet hits a tree – I quickly weave to the side and keep going...Nothings stopping me from telling people about this group of cannibals. Thorns and pebbles imbed themselves in the bottom of my feet, but I keep going, I'm breathing hard and my lungs are begging for a few seconds to catch up with my pace, but I can't stop. Trees fly by me, I narrowly avoid a few of them – after what seems like hours I stop, looking up at a tall building…"Lee Bro's. Meet Co." A sign reads, I glance behind me and freeze. The sound of a chainsaw fills the night air – I swear before running around the building, confident that I can make it somewhere…Anywhere..

The sound gets closer and I know Freak can outrun me, but right now I have the lead. I keep going, stalks of corn touching my bare skin and making me shudder – then I trip. I fall flat on my face and I cry, because I can see his shadow looming over me. A violent hand grabs my shoulder and jerks me up and I look up – meeting his eyes…Those dead, disturbing eyes. They're the most disturbing shade of grey, like sheet metal. Tears are running down my face, hot and fast. He just looks at me and blinks, and I think I can see a glint of something trail out of his eye….Is he crying? I don't know what to do, and for a great while we just stand there – staring at each other. Finally, he turns his back to me and starts walking to the forest. I stare after him, flabbergasted.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" I yell, taking a few steps forward, furious. Part of me wants to die, but the other part wants to save many others from this horrible family…And I can't have both. He turns and looks at me, dropping the chainsaw, and then he turns his back to me and starts taking those slow, disturbingly so, steps back into the forest.

"Thank you." I whisper, more tears wetting my cheeks. I turn and run for it. Part of my heart feels pity for the fre…His name is Tommy. I feel bad for Tommy, and silently I hope he'll be okay – then I think about Mark and keep going.

She's so pretty. 'Nd she's lookin' at me with so much fear I ain't got no idea how I can hurt the lady now. Mamma told me 'bout fairytales with love, and if it ever did exist, if I ever could feel 'et then this was it. I ain't takin' her back and throwin' her to Hoyt to hurt no more, he ain't touchin' my pretty lady. 'Nd the only way to keep him away from 'er is to leave 'er to run to the real Sheriffs and officers. They's the only people who can help my pretty lady. Tears are rollin' down her face and I'd reach out to wipe 'em away but I kno' she's 'fraid of me so I cry too. Then I decide I better get back to Hoyt and let 'im yell at me for lettin' 'er escape; silently I know if she comes back to us I ain't lettin' him touch her. I'll kill 'im, just like all the others.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" Her voice is pretty, too. I keep going, but maybe I should tell her. I slowly turn back to facin' her, lift up my chainsaw – my pride and joy – before droppin' 'et right in front of me. I turn back to the forest and keep goin', the mask on my face suddenly feels foreign. I'm going to miss that pretty lady. I keep goin', hummin' Mamma's favorite tune under my breath…the lady whispers somethin' else but I didn't hear 'et. I keep goin', not sure if I'll ever stop – somethin' in my chest is hurtin', but I kno' there ain't nobody stupid enough to hit me.

_**So, I thought it was a cute oneshot – in a sort of psychopathic way; but I couldn't find a single story for TCM that I liked, so I made my own. Mind you, it's far from the best, but it is mine. Tommy isn't supposed to talk, there for he doesn't – and he's not really angry, ever. He just kind of does it (based it on TCM:The Beginning mostly) for Hoyt and the others.**_

_**Anyhow, review?**_


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